


Blue Peonies

by L0NE



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, POV Third Person Limited, au where marianne is berkut and rinea’s daughter, berkut and rinea are alive and well :), takes place some ~8 years after the war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2020-08-19 17:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20213608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L0NE/pseuds/L0NE
Summary: Peonies can mean good fortune, prosperity, and compassion, as well as bashfulness.A compilation of short stories in an AU where Marianne is the daughter of a certain couple from Valentia.





	1. Tradition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this takes place in a world where berkut and rinea lived, had a wonderful daughter, and are raising her happily in a gigantic makeshift family consisting mostly of friends and distant relatives, all who she calls with familial honorifics even if they aren't exactly related to her.

Soon after Marianne turned 6 years old, her father made her pick out a weapon.

“One day, Marianne,” he explained, taking her into the castle’s armory with a gentle tug of his hand, “you’ll be able to take part in your own battles. When that time comes, you’ll need something to fight with— an extension of yourself.” 

The armory was a small, dusty place— apparently, it was much more utilized during the war before Marianne was born, but had now turned into somewhat of a glorified storage closet for unused equipment. She had wandered into this very location on occasion just to see if she could find anything interesting, but stacks of axes and armor that were too heavy to move tended to block her path whenever she had stepped too far in.

Today, however, was different. Though it wasn’t much cleaner (Marianne could just barely peek over the tall window sills to see that the dust and dirt that had always been still hadn’t been wiped away), the equipment that had laid in a mess on the floor was now organized and pushed into corners to create an open space to walk around in. The wall above this 3-4 person space was now different, as well. Instead of the usual, tattered flag of the old country that had hung up on its lonesome, various tools were now tacked onto the stone for easy viewing— a slim sword, a javelin, a hand axe, and the like, with one of each unique weapon on display.

“When I was your age, my uncle took me into this very room and presented me with my options just like this. There was a large ceremony soon after, and I quickly began my training to become the man you know now,” he said, softly. There was a heavy meaning to his words, Marianne understood that well, but his voice had no bite to it. Instead, it was gentle, soothing, and made the situation— being 6 years old and being told to take a weapon— a lot less daunting to her. “I would like for you to do the same.”

She stared up at the wall in silence for a brief moment. “...What did you pick, father?” Marianne asked, curious. After all, there were so many things in front of her that she couldn’t even pinpoint just a few she would be interested in— she wondered how her father could pick  _ one _ so easily.

He seemed amused by that question, and held her to his leg. “A lance, of course,” he announced proudly. That made a bit of sense, considering she saw his lance nearly every day— he brought it wherever he went.

Still, though, it didn’t sit particularly right with her…

“But lances are so long, you could fumble them at my height,” she murmured. “Were you really tall...?”

She could feel him stiffen under the questioning. 

“Well, I—“

The sound of footsteps behind the two of them. “He wasn’t, trust me, Marianne.”

Both of them turned around. 

Marianne’s face lit up upon seeing a familiar figure standing in the doorway they had come in from, and she broke free from her father’s delicate hold on her to race over to the person in question. Before she could throw her arms around their leg, though, she was picked up by the waist and squeezed to their chest instead with a hearty laugh.

“Uncle Almmmm!” She giggled, trying to push herself away from his chestplate, but her uncle’s grip was far too strong. He hugged her tight, then lifted her onto his shoulders, where she peeked over his head of messy hair to look back to her father.

Though she was ecstatic to run into her uncle, as he was a typically busy person, her father didn’t seem pleased in the slightest. As long as Marianne could remember, her uncle Alm and her father had always butted heads— though her uncle often didn’t notice how often he tried to provoke him, which only infuriated her father more. He grit his teeth. “Oh, how would you know anything? You were busy down in whatever backwater village Mycen raised you in…”

A pause. Then, he looked away. “...But in any case, I did start out with a short spear, yes, until lances were made available to me.” 

“See? Told you,” her uncle said, matter-of-factly. Then, he took one of Marianne’s hands that was pulling on his face and held it in his own. “I wonder what you’d like, Marianne.”

“I’m not sure...” She shrugged. “What did mother pick?”

Her father thought for a moment. “A sword, I believe,” he said, but it sounded unsure. “Though, her parents never allowed her to train in the arts. They merely let her take part in tradition to put on airs.” The curl of his lip was a hint of how annoyed he was— he disliked her family, to the point where Marianne had never even met them. Her mother never spoke about them either, not to her face. From what she would overhear from the maids’ gossip around the castle, they weren’t the kindest, and they seemed to do a lot of things just to make themselves look good. 

So this occasion that was supposed to be important was just another thing they did for appearances… That left a bad taste in Marianne’s mouth.

“I can’t imagine Rinea with a sword…” her uncle Alm mused, breaking up Marianne’s thoughts.

Her father shot back. “Even if she never used it, the art of swordsmanship— and the art of battle itself— builds confidence and character. It’s something everyone needs, but they robbed her of even that.”

“Speaking of,” her uncle‘s voice dropped lower. “Is she really okay with this kind of thing? She has a hard time leaving Marianne alone with a butterknife.”

A twitch of her father’s eyebrows. For a second, it looked as though he would yell at her uncle for insinuating he hadn’t thought this through. “This is a coming-of-age celebration that is part of Rigellian tradition, and Rinea knows that. Though that may not mean much to  _ you _ , as Rigel is dissolved… It means a lot to me,” he said. “She did make me promise to ask her first about training Marianne, however.”

Her uncle Alm smiled warmly at that, satisfied. “It’s nice that she’s got a leash on you.”

“Quiet, you fool,” his face turned red in response.

As they had their back and forth, Marianne began to give the situation some serious thought. Her father had picked a lance, her mother a sword… But what did she want? 

Well, she didn’t want her mother to worry. Her uncle Alm was right when he said that she fretted over Marianne getting hurt, and she wasn’t necessarily a fan of combat in and of itself, either— while her father would eagerly tell her stories of battles he fought in the war years prior, her mother would always look on with an uneasy stare. Still, though, Marianne _ did  _ want to please her father by picking something, and she definitely had an interest in learning a craft. So, what was something that she could take up that would appease both of her parents?

Scanning the wall, Marianne didn’t see such an option for her to choose, but she figured it would be okay to ask about it instead. 

She slumped her head down so her chin rested atop her uncle’s head, “Father, could I do what Auntie Tatiana does?”

The two of them were talking amongst themselves, but stopped to parse what Marianne had just said. 

“What that slacker does…?” Her father murmured. Her aunt-in-name-only, Tatiana, lived in the castle despite not being a royal or noble due to her husband’s role as her uncle Alm’s right hand man. Though she often went out into town or far away villagers to aid the sick, on her few strings of days off, she would laze around the castle and eat any and every scrap of food she could find. Her father seemed to only run into her during these times, and the two of them bickered over her schedule often.

“She’s not a slacker. She does white magic.” Her uncle clarified for him, and quickly looked around the armory. There wasn’t a single tome or magical object to be found, thanks in part to the fact that during the war, Rigel, the location of the castle before everything was just called Valentia, had mainly relied on Duma Faithful for their services.

“Yes,” Marianne nodded. “There’s nothing sharp that I have to use for that, so mother won’t have to worry about me… And, I can use it to help myself if I ever get hurt, or help other people… Or animals!” She wasn’t actually sure if healing meant for humans could help animals, but she wanted to try, regardless.

“White magic…” Her father echoed, crossing his arms. His eyebrows came together, and his eyes shut, like he was thinking deeply about Marianne’s decision. Though a bit more uncommon, some children decided to train in magic arts at a young age, so it wasn’t as if Marianne was breaking any rules by choosing something a little bit different. 

But there was still a pang of dissatisfaction that she could see he had to suppress. “I… I suppose that’s fine, as it  _ is  _ your choice,” he mumbled.

A silence among the three.

Marianne’s uncle reached up and ruffled her hair, a smirk on his face that she couldn’t see. “I think he wanted you to pick lances so you could be just like him,” he explained.

Lances? She couldn’t even picture that. Even a short spear seemed daunting to her, given how small she was— that, and lances required a strength she didn’t think she had, judging from how often she would see her father, the strongest person in her entire world, lift his with ease. 

So she shook her head. “I don’t wanna use lances…”

Her father’s face, with his eyes still closed and his eyebrows still furrowed, twisted up suddenly, like he had just eaten something sour.

“Ah, he’s gonna cry,” her uncle commented.

Marianne leaned forward as much as she could to attempt to reach her father from where she sat. “D-Don’t cry, father!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you liked this, lemme know! cuz i was thinking of making a bunch more marianne berkutrinea short stories that i may just tack onto this as like... a compilation.
> 
> EDIT LIKE TWO DAYS LATER: OKAY DAMN Y'ALL LIKED IT I'LL WRITE MORE. thank you so much for the positive feedback


	2. Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO... THANKS FOR ALL THE POSITIVE FEEDBACK............... I ACTUALLY WANNA CRY IT MEANS A LOT.
> 
> so i figure i would lay out everything that i have in mind for this AU. i'm calling it an au when really you could totally definitely put what i'm writing into the canon we know about marianne and it would still fit.
> 
> this second story is about her crest. let's be real we all know it looks like duma. i'm here to write something for that.

There was a man Marianne saw in her dreams all the time.

When she first started noticing him, he hadn’t been too outstanding— a face in a crowd of people she made up, a figure standing against a building in the corner of her eye. It was hard to put together a portrait of his features after she woke up, as memories of dreams were always fleeting, but she distinctly remembered that he was rather tall and had a handsome face. Of course, that didn’t really narrow down his identity by any means— plenty of men around the castle were tall and what was probably considered attractive, Marianne thought, because they were married, so that had to mean _ someone _liked them.

Since her real world search had no real results, Marianne shifted to focusing on her dreamscapes— slowly but surely, she tried to get near him. It went from feeble attempts of trying to redirect her dreams towards his general direction into researching methods of controlling what she dreamt of as a whole. Of course, she was still young, so complicated texts were out of the question for study, and she instead asked people for their own experiences on how to do so.

“Well, I sometimes ask myself if I’m dreaming. When I do, I’ve acknowledged I’m not in reality— and then I can do as I please,” her aunt Celica explained over tea one morning.

“You’ve got to tell yourself over and over that you’re going to sleep, and then when you actually fall asleep, you’ll be able to do whatever you want, since you’re conscious of the fact. I think. Maybe...” her aunt Tatiana tried to give some kind of advice over Marianne’s magic studies.

“Why do you want to control your dreams? Is it because of nightmares? Should I ask King Alm if it would be alright to stand guard by your bedside?” was what her uncle Zeke said, and she had to insist she was fine. She wanted to keep this to herself, rather than get other people involved, in case that could possibly scare her mystery man off in her head.

It took a lot of trial and error— it was hard for Marianne to remember things outside of her studies and feeding the horses in the stable, so to practicing this new hobby on top of that was tasking. She had tried many times and succeeded only a handful, and even in that handful, she couldn’t will him to appear, not could she track him down.

But then, one night, Marianne had done everything she needed. Finished her studies early, gave her great-grandpa Mycen a hand with preparation for the next night’s dinner along with the maids, said goodnight to her parents, and was in bed at an early time. She was completely calm and focused (a rarity, considering she would get spooked by shadows around the castle and spend a while tossing and turning before finally figuring she should sleep), and decided that this night would be the night.

Blowing her candle out for the night, she closed her eyes…

And when she opened them again, she was standing in the middle of a field.

“First things first...” Marianne mumbled to herself. “This is a dream… I’m dreaming. I-I’m dreaming...”

Nothing particularly changed around her. The sky was a dusk-colored pink and orange, with the grass beneath her feet dark and neatly trimmed. But she was in control completely now, and the first thing she did was run forward, praying that she would find something to help her out.

Sure enough, not too far ahead of her, was the figure of a man staring off into the distance.

Marriane slowed her pace until she came to a near crawl, just so she could try and take in his appearance as much as possible before she approached. He was turned slightly away from her, but she could still see that, yes, his face was indeed handsome, and he had pointed ears she hadn’t noticed before. The outfit he wore was probably some unknown army’s uniform, but it was regal-looking, with a long, beautiful red cape, so it was possible he could be a general, or whatever was higher than that (Marianne still didn’t understand everything about armies yet, no matter how much her father and uncles told her).

The man noticed her then, and turned completely to look at her. She found herself walking forward unwittingly, until stopping just a bit before his feet. There was a foot or two of distance between them, but even then, Marianne had to crane her neck as far back as it could go to make eye contact. Once she found that his glare was a bit intimidating, however, she looked off into the air next to him.

She actually hadn't thought this far in all the months it took her to get to this point. What was she supposed to do now? What was the first thing you’re supposed to ask someone when you meet them for the first time…?

“...What’s your name?” Marianne asked, feebly.

The man stared down at her, silent for a moment. No reply.

“...Uhm. W-What’s your—“

“Have you not truly heard of me before?” He interrupted her, shutting her up instantly. His voice was deep, she noted, like one of the generals that her father never got along with. “Seen me in your paintings? Heard the songs and prayers offered up by those who praise me? None of that?”

Marianne had absolutely no clue what he was talking about.

So she shook her head. “No...”

A pause.

Though his jaw never slackened, the closure of the man’s eyes and the slight softening of his face gave Marianne a quick breather. “...Well, you’re still young. I’m not quite sure what I expected,” he mumbled to himself. Then, with the same authority as before, he declared loudly, “My name is Duma, child. You would do well to know the name of the fell god who founded Rigel.”

“Duma…” Marianne echoed. 

The name felt familiar, but she couldn’t place where she had heard it from. Was it the name of a horse in the stables at home? She would have to snoop around once she woke up.

She extended her hand up to him, offering a shake. “My name is Marianne. Nice to meet you, Duma,” she said.

He stared down at her palm. Instead of taking it in his, he merely took it by his thumb and forefinger and shook it that way— which was fine, as it turned out his hands were leaps and bounds bigger than hers, and the idea of him crushing her hand by sheer strength scared Marianne like there was no tomorrow. “Yes, nice to meet you, too,” he said, stiffly. 

As a fell god, he probably never had to greet someone in that way before, Marianne thought. Although she wasn’t sure if that aspect of him was real or not— it was possible he was lying.

The next best thing to do would be to interrogate (a word she learned from overhearing her father yelling at some soldiers) Duma, Marianne decided. 

With a quick thought, a table and two chairs appeared beside them, and she walked over to sit down on one, hoping that Duma would do the same. Sure enough, he followed her, and sat down in his child-sized seat without a complaint. It would probably be funny to see a man of such large build and stature sitting at a child’s table under any other circumstances, but Duma had such an oppressive aura, she didn’t really feel the urge to laugh.

“I-I should ask… Have we met before?” Marianne started. “I see you all the time in my dreams, but I don’t think I’ve seen you when I’m awake.”

Duma shook his head. “No. In person, we have never met, and we never will. My sister and I sleep deep in a hidden location in Valentia, and I specifically told the saint king not to rouse us from our slumber,” he explained. The saint king was her uncle Alm— Marianne kept that in mind, in case she decided to speak with him when she woke up. While she was thinking to herself, Duma continued. “But I am a god, which means I can still do a few things even without consciousness. This includes seeing you.”

A tea set suddenly found its way onto the table, and Marianne debated whether or not to serve it for a moment. Upon seeing Duma’s eyes glance toward it a few times, however, she quickly decided it would be best to do so. She took a cup and saucer and began to pour out the tea pot’s contents, which produced a sickly sweet smelling liquid. Now that was familiar— it was apple tea. Everyone she knew liked apple flavored tea, so a god should be no exception. 

As she topped off the cup and meekly handed the fell god his serving, which seemed laughably small when one looked at his gigantic body, she asked, “...Why do you want to see me if we’ve never met, though…?”

Duma took the teacup and inspected it for a moment. Smelled it. Immediately tightened his lips at the sweetness that barraged him. But he downed all of it in one go, just like how Marianne would sometimes see soldiers drink outside the castle on late nights, which she thought was strange. 

“...Tell me,” he said, his throat scratchy from what was probably the heat of the tea he had just decided to take as a shot. “What do you know of the war that occurred before you were born?”

Marianne looked off to the side. “My family was in it. But that’s it…”

“I see,” Duma parsed her answer, interested. “The truth is, I am part of why that war started.”

“Oh…” she nodded, knowingly. But to be honest, she had little idea what that meant. What the war was started over, how it ended, she had no clue— it took place two years before she was born, so it wasn’t like she was there to witness it, and no one would tell her any details. She did hear some recountings of stories from her father, but they were mostly nameless battles, not anything related to anyone else.

Since wars were bad, and Duma started it…

“So you’re a bad guy,” Marianne said, a statement more than a question.

Duma cracked a smile, which made Marianne feel a bit more at ease. She wasn’t sure if he could do that up until now! “That is a comical way to oversimplify it, but yes, I was.” 

He began examining the teacup in his hands while he spoke, as if he were trying to distract himself. His fingers brushed over the design that surrounded the rim, which was based off of the teaset Marianne used at home, now that she, too, was looking more closely. “I could go on and on about how and why the war itself started, but you are a child, and I do not believe you have the capacity to understand the complexities. So, I will just say… I was part of the ‘bad’ things, making me a ‘bad guy’. I had lost my mind to the madness of time, and it led to me making rash decisions and toying with my people’s lives.”

The cup was set down, and Duma looked Marianne in the eye. She wanted to look away, but found that she couldn’t. “In particular, I caused your immediate family much suffering. I tempted your father with my corrupted power, and nearly caused him to commit atrocities unnamed. It was thanks to your mother’s care for him, along with the saint king’s prompt arrival on the scene, that quelled his anger in time before he could truly lose himself.” 

Marianne was about to ask what “atrocities unnamed” meant, but figured they were unnamed for a reason, so she kept listening. “After I was defeated and sealed away with my sister, I entered a slumber that will likely last longer than your bloodline’s span,” he continued. “But shortly after I did… I sensed you.”

The pause after his speech took a moment to register with Marianne that it was her turn to speak. She readjusted herself in her seat ever so slightly, uncomfortable by the shift of focus on her. “Sensed me…?”

“It is beyond human understanding— a feeling only gods can possess— to be able to know someone lives without seeing them. That is what happened with you. During my bout of sleep, I was suddenly met with your existence,” Duma explained, but the concept made little sense to Marianne. Still, she pretended to understand so he would keep talking. “I decided, then, that if I was no longer truly around to make things right with your parents, for the hardship I caused them… I could try to do so with you.”

“How so?” Marianne asked. Then, a pang of fear. She had remembered a secret her Uncle Zeke had told her months ago, about the land he had originally come from— it harbored beings with pointed ears who could turn into dragons. Looking at Duma’s ears, she realized that it was possible he could be one of those beings. She covered her own defensively, almost trembling. “Am I going to become a dragon…? I heard they eat horses. I-I don’t want to eat horses… I just became friends with a new one named Ribbon, and I don’t want to break his trust by eating him…!”

Confusion on Duma’s face led her to speculate that maybe that was not what he had in mind. “Nothing of the sort,” he shook his head. 

In the air, he began to draw a symbol, and the air lit up around his finger, as if he were coloring the air. A star at the top, a curvy U shape below it, a small Y shape underneath it, and two half circles on either side. It looked like a goat, or ram, or maybe dragon, if she thought about it long enough. 

“I put a blessing on you soon after you were born. This is my mark,” he said. “Though it shouldn’t appear on your body, this is imprinted on your soul.”

Marianne stared up at it in awe. “A blessing…”

As it began to shimmer out of existence, Duma continued speaking. “Of course, I know from my sister that such frivolities make humans spoiled and weak, so it will not be anything particularly life changing— especially when you already lead the life of royalty. But this will ensure that so long as you are in Valentia, I will give you my protection.” 

Then, an odd look on Duma’s face— he glanced off to the side, with his lips tightened. “I am doing this in hopes that this could patch up some of the… shall we say, rough ground I have with your parents.”

“...Do they hate you that much?”

“Your father was indifferent, before I meddled in his life. He thinks little of me now, though he does seem to sympathize a bit. Your mother on the other hand…”

A sigh escaped his lips. “Well, she went from praying to me on occasion, to scorning my name whenever the opportunity presents itself.”

That made Marianne’s eyebrows raise. Her mother could truly be that angry with someone? She couldn’t even picture such a thing in her head, it seemed so unbelievable. “Wow. You must have made her really upset,” she marveled. “She doesn’t get like that ever, even when she talks about her parents.”

Duma nodded sagely. “Yes, well, there’s a difference there. I nearly got her killed.”

Marianne stared up at Duma in wide-eyed horror.

“You nearly got her ki…?”

Silence.

The fell god put a hand to his head. “Perhaps I should not have said that…” 

But the damage was already done. It was a delayed reaction, but Marianne shot up from the table and grabbed the tea pot as protection, ready to strike with its contents still hot. There was fear that welled up inside of her, at the idea that someone could have hurt her mother, and also anger! How could she have casually spoken to Duma like this when she was right before— when she had called him a bad guy?

“I-If you were that mean to my mother,” she trembled, ready to chuck the tea pot at him, “I-I don’t want your blessing...!”

Rather than deny her the right to be angry, considering he was a fell god who most definitely had more power than a six year old, even in a dreamscape, he tried to level with her. “I was not in the right mind, I had gone mad. And I still regret that I had even come to that point, which is why I had decided to give my blessing to you.” When he saw Marianne raise the tea pot higher, he winced. “That tea is extremely hot, do not throw any at me!”

“T-Then…!”

She pursed her lips, hesitant. He _ was _trying to make amends, but he was going about it the wrong way— giving something to her instead of her mother.

“You should have just apologized to my mother, then…!” She squeaked.

Duma just sadly shook his head. “I have tried, but it cannot be done. I do not possess nearly the same amount of strength I had while I was awake. To force myself into the mind of someone that rejects or detests me is an impossible feat now.” He extended his arm and easily reached over the child-sized table to where Marianne was standing, gently taking the tea pot out of her hands and placing it back down between them. “There were no barriers to break with you— I suppose I should have figured that to be because you knew nothing of me.”

Still, Marianne didn’t sit back down in her seat. His reasoning made sense with that explanation, and he seemed genuinely repentant, but it just didn’t feel right to her. She ended up just opting to stare at the grass beneath her, silent. “...”

“Marianne…”

Not too soon after that, a shadow loomed over her, and a hand was put to her head— big enough to the point that it was concerning for her head to be in its grip, but all it did is rustle her hair. 

“I truly regret it, Marianne. I did not want to become what led my nation and people into ruin— no one does. If there ever comes a time where I wake once more, the past would haunt me to the point that I would probably fear myself,” Duma said, his voice somber. “At least when I sleep, I cannot bring harm to anyone.”

He didn’t pull away after he said that, instead choosing to stand next to her in silence. Marianne nervously pulled at her dress, trying to figure out what to say after such a heavy confession. 

To be scared of yourself… Marianne never wanted to know what that felt like.

“...Well, then…” she jerkily moved out from underneath his hold, her gaze still at the ground. “...I’ll tell her myself that you’re sorry, Grandpa Duma.”

“...’Grandpa Duma’...” He echoed.

Then, he burst out laughing— so loud, it nearly made Marianne trip over herself as she backed away even farther. When she looked up to his face, a hand was covering his mouth, and his eyes were shut tight. “Pwahaha! That is quite amusing, for a human to give me such a humble title!”

Fearfully, she blurted out, “S-Should it be something different?” Most of those she called her family weren’t even related to her, so she thought it would be alright to refer to Duma with similar naming, but if he was going to mock it...

“No, no. I think I will grow to be fond of it. It is personal— rarely do I have such a title.” He grinned at her, still chuckling.

Marianne was silent for a second.

A good guy, who became a bad guy, who wanted to be a good guy again… would definitely laugh like this, she thought to herself. 

So since he seemed truly sorry, and wanted to make things okay, and wasn’t going to make her into a dragon, and could smile at her to boot, she decided that she could trust him.

“...So, what does your blessing do?”

“No life threatening illnesses, no serious injuries, a healthy metabolism, an extra bit of luck on the battlefield, an ease of mobility on the battlefield, being better intuned with your enemy’s thinking process… All very warrior oriented. You will have to forgive me for that. I do not have a blessing for small children.”

“Well, I’m studying white magic, so I could use some of those things.”

“I can tell— the mana is practically pouring off of you. You will do great things, Marianne. I can tell.”

“Oh… T-Thanks…”


	3. Horses

Marianne had no one her age to play with in the castle, so it made sense that her first friends were horses. Or, maybe it didn’t, depending on who you were.

To Marianne, it certainly checked out. She could be friendly with the maids and her family as much as she wanted, but she didn’t have anyone in particular she could really  _ play _ with. Yes, some people would go out of their way to entertain her on occasion, which she appreciated— she was interested in the stories she kept in secret with her uncle Zeke of his life before he had washed up in Valentia, and she had fun when her mother would take her out to water her garden with her. But those people were also grownups, with their own lives, and they certainly couldn’t be around 24/7 when they had jobs to attend to. 

Her mother explained to her once that there was so much commotion after the war regarding order in Valentia that most in the castle were just too busy running things to settle down with children just yet. Marianne’s parents had been an exception, as, per her mother’s request, her father wouldn’t take on too many responsibilities, instead only focusing on the army to strongarm some areas into settling down. It helped that her mother wasn’t planning on taking charge of anything, so she had no particular responsibilities while she was pregnant.

(“I believe she only wanted your father to mandate the army’s forces because she was worried about putting him under mental strain,” Duma told her one night. “The last thing she wanted was for him to feel overwhelmed after my… fiasco.”)

Uncle Alm and Aunt Celica were the rulers of Valentia, and they were also fairly young to be ruling an entire continent, no matter how much help they had. As a result, the two were busier than ever the first few years after the war, and it was only recently that they had a baby, a boy, but he was much too young to play with just yet. That, and babies intimidated Marianne, what with how loud they cried and how much attention they needed. She couldn’t even be in the same room as him because she was worried he would start screaming.

Uncle Zeke and Aunt Tatiana had a little more leeway, but not much. According to her uncle, he left Valentia soon after its union and came back two years later, immediately wed her aunt, and moved into the castle to assume his position as her uncle Alm’s right hand man. They had a daughter a while back, but she was three years old to Marianne’s six, so it wasn’t as if they were on the same page— Marianne had tried to play with her on a few occasions, but after her aunt Celica gave birth, all she wanted to do was be around the baby.

Aunts Silque and Faye, two of her uncle Alm’s friends, came by with their adopted sons sometimes, who were both Marianne’s age, but they weren’t any better. They were loud and would press Marianne on any little thing she said or did (“Do you live here all the time?” “Do you get to go outside?” “What’s your dad like?”), and it would overwhelm her. Maybe she would warm up to them if she was able to get used to them, but they visited so infrequently and randomly that she had no way of preparing herself. 

If only Marianne could have a friend that was available to be with whenever, that was nice and gentle and didn’t worry her… Was that too much to ask for?

Well, that was where the horses came in. 

The castle had two stables— one large one, and then one smaller one. The latter was made use of by messengers and soldiers that went in and out of the castle, so Marianne only knew about it through word of mouth. The former was located near the courtyard, and, in Marianne’s daily wandering one day, she stumbled upon it. It was a stable with just a handful of horses, hidden away by plants to the point where any normal onlooker wouldn’t notice exactly what was there off the main path of the courtyard, so of course, she was intrigued.

The stable was extremely well-kept, and the horses were in peak condition, like they were ready to be ridden at any moment. Marianne’s conclusion after some thinking was that this location in particular belonged exclusively to her family— there was a black one (which she assumed to be her father’s), a dark brown one (which was similar to what she had seen her uncle Zeke ride), and two white ones (both of which she had seen her uncle Alm and her aunt Celica use). Normally, she might have left this discovery at that and gone about her afternoon, but she was especially bored now, so she stayed to see if being around the horses would be anything fun. 

Surprisingly enough to her, not a single one reacted negatively to her touch or caused any tantrums. Instead, when Marianne would walk by, every single one of them was pining for her attention— if they weren’t in pens, they most certainly would have burst out to play with her. Usually, Marianne didn’t enjoy this kind of treatment, but when it was with these horses, she felt oddly comforted.

“Hi…” she murmured, sticking out her hand to the first one she saw— the black one she thought to have belonged to her father. It responded by nuzzling itself into her palm, which shocked her, and she quickly pulled back.

When it responded with a sad whinny, however, she felt her heart melt. 

“Are you like me…?” Marianne asked. Timidly, she reached for its snout, and she pet it with a trembling hand. “You don’t have anyone to play with, either…?”

It rubbed into her hand.

“Wow…”

Horses are amazing. That was her conclusion that afternoon.

So, following that experience, most of Marianne’s free time was spent in the secluded courtyard stable, mainly talking and playing with its residents. She would toss them food, talk to them about her day, brush them, all sorts of things she could think of, and the kindness that she gave to them, they gave back to her by letting her do as she pleased. Admittedly, it was quite fun. Sure, it was different than most people’s idea of friendship, but Marianne wasn’t telling “most people” where she was running off to every day, anyways, so no one could judge her.

This went on for quite a while. Days turned into weeks, and soon, weeks turned into months, about two of them to be exact. Marianne ended up realizing that she quite liked the company of horses rather than actual people. Horses weren’t loud and scary like babies and other kids were, they were available to be around when every adult was busy, and they didn’t treat her meanly or do anything hurtful to her in comparison to what real people  _ could _ do. She figured that she would be content with spending all of her time like this— studying, horses, eat, sleep, repeat.

Until she was spotted by her uncle Zeke while feeding his horse.

The timing was almost comedic. She arrived after lunch with some of her extra food packed in a bundle, and decided she would feed his horse (whom she nicknamed Butterfly an account of seeing on perched upon its snout one day) first. The second she had held out a carrot, her uncle had turned the corner and brushed past the plants and shrubbery that crowded the entrance, and as they made eye contact, his horse greedily stole the entire snack from Marianne’s hand.

The motion stole away Marianne’s attention for the briefest of moments. “H-Hey, you weren’t supposed to…” She turned to reprimand Butterfly for its behavior, but her voice died out just thinking about yelling at a horse in front of its owner. How was she supposed to face her uncle, anyways?

Would he be mad? He would definitely be mad. This wasn’t her horse, she can’t just go around playing with and feeding things that aren’t hers, but she didn’t want to ask anyone for permission in the first place because she might have been told that she shouldn’t meddle in things, and then where would she get her fun from, she would lose her friends that she had made here, and…

“Milady? Marianne, are you alright?” 

Uncle Zeke’s voice cut through her swarming thoughts, and she nodded, swallowing thickly. “Y-Yes,” she mumbled and quickly stepped backward, away from the pen, only to back into her uncle Zeke, who had gotten behind her somehow. The thought popped into her mind to run, but she found herself frozen once he put his hands on her shoulders. With ease, he spun her around to face him, then grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her up into the air.

“Hmn… No external injuries,” he said to himself after looking her over thoroughly, and gently placed her back down on the dirt below. Marianne felt her legs trembling slightly— it was terrifying to be up that high, how did he deal with that every day? “What seems to be the issue? You’re tense. Should I call for Lady Rinea?”

The thought of getting in trouble with her mother made Marianne even more  _ tense _ than before. She shook her head, tugging at her dress. “I was… feeding Butter— your horse without your permission. And you came in and found me out,” she choked out. “I’m sorry. I-I won’t do it again .”

He looked over to the horse in front of the two of them, as if to take the situation in, and Marianne waited for him to explode. She had seen him do it once before when she was very young, when a soldier had really messed up at his station, and now she might have been next...

But her uncle simply shook his head. “I don’t mind it,” he said. “In fact, if you’d like to keep doing that, you’re more than welcome— she doesn’t eat enough for how much I tend to work her, in my opinion.”

She looked up in shock. “Really?”

“Really, yes.” He smiled at her, and she felt her face warm. That was a smile that could pierce the coldest of hearts— no wonder Auntie Tatiana was so in love with him! “I’m glad she’s taken a liking to you— she snaps at nearly everyone that isn’t me or Tatiana. Almost bit Jerome’s hand off when he came too close one time, which was quite funny…”

An unfamiliar name. “Jerome…?”

He waved it off. “Ah, someone from the war. You don’t need to know anything about him except that he was a bastard.” 

A pause. Her uncle’s face went deathly pale. 

“I-I didn’t say that. Do not tell your father I swore in front of you, and do not repeat that last word ever. Are we clear?”

“Yes,” Marianne nodded, not understanding what had just happened.

“That’s a good girl.”

Butterfly, who had been patiently waiting in front of them, craned her neck and whinnied, trying to reach Marianne for the bundle of food she still held in her hands. With a bit of nervousness thanks to her being watched by someone other than a horse, Marianne fed her another carrot and hoped that would keep her quiet. It seemed to work, thankfully, which made her uncle’s shoulders relax. “I’ve come to take this old girl out on a ride into town for Lord Alm. Usually, he sends a messenger for such matters, but he knows Tatiana’s over there working right now, so he wants me to go visit her. What exactly is  _ your _ business here? Unless it’s just to feed the horses.”

Marianne tilted her head to the side. “I don’t have any  _ business… _ I usually come here after I finish my tutoring for the day… And play with everyone here.” 

“Hmn…”

Her uncle reached over to undo the lock on the pen, something Marianne couldn’t do herself thanks to how short she was. She stepped to the side so the two could get on with their work, thinking about how she would divide her bundle among the three leftover horses, but Butterfly didn’t move from her spot. In fact, it was her uncle Zeke that moved first by crouching down to Marianne’s height, a wild glint in his eye that she hadn’t seen before. 

“Say, Marianne,” he started, “how would you feel about taking a ride out with me?”

“Huh?” 

She certainly wasn’t expecting that. She had never ridden a horse before— her father forbade it until she was a bit older, since she was still smaller than should be allowed for such an activity.

“This horse used to be the late Emperor Rudolph’s, so it has… A bit more of a larger saddle than I need. It can fit me, and you’re small, so it can fit you, as well.”

Marianne shook her head, not concerned about the how-to at all, and instead thinking of her parents. “I… Well… M-My father said no to me before, so I don’t think he’d want me to…” Of course, the circumstances were a bit different when her uncle Zeke was an experienced rider who would definitely keep her safe, but her worries still stood. She didn’t want to get in trouble with her father.

Seeing the trepidation on her face, he pat her on the head reassuringly. “He’s stuck in meetings for the rest of the evening. He won’t know.”

“My mother…” she mumbled, remembering that she also agreed to his conditions.

“Is in Lady Celica’s quarters helping her with her son, and could be occupied for two to three hours.”

Marianne squinted. This was the first time she had ever seen her uncle so keen on bending rules— which was especially strange when one added in the fact that he was the only person who ever seemed to listen to them.

“...Why do you want me to go with you so badly?”

“I’ve been married to Tatiana for quite a long time and I have a daughter of my own. I know when someone needs to have a bit of fun,” he said. “Come with me.”

Her eyes flitted from him, to Butterfly, back to him. Then once again to Butterfly. 

It  _ could _ be fun, she thought. And her parents wouldn’t know, so she wouldn’t get in trouble… And she trusted Butterfly and her uncle to make sure she wouldn’t get hurt…

...And maybe sometimes it was okay to be around other people… 

“O-Okay…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to make this a little bit longer to talk about zeke some more but i decided to save that for another chapter. hope u enjoyed this small one


	4. Garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> something short. 
> 
> i should mention if you have any marianne berkutrinea content, please for the love of god link me to it, i crave it. thanks love u guys bye

Marianne’s mother had a large garden located off the right side of the castle. It wasn’t off-limits to anyone, regardless of status, so long as whoever entered left everything the way they found it— no littering, no kicking up dirt, and especially no picking of the flowers. With those rules, and how peaceful of a place it was, it was natural for a few soldiers or maids to spend some free time taking a relaxing stroll around the garden to clear their heads.

Sometimes, Marianne would come to visit the garden herself, but she much preferred to go when her mother asked. 

It made the entire day brighter— they could be doing whatever normal activity, like eating breakfast or reading a book, and her mother would slow her pace, as if she were thinking of something, planning a schedule in her head. When Marianne would take notice, a certain light would shine in her mother’s eyes as she leaned down to ask, “Would you like to accompany me to the garden, sweetheart?” 

Marianne always accepted. Sure, the garden was lovely on its own, but when its owner was there, tending to everything with a care that could only be described as beautiful, it was a completely different experience.

Her mother would grab an empty basket, some supplies Marianne couldn’t name, and a watering can from her quarters, and they would be off, shuffling into the garden like two knights on a holy mission. Almost immediately, the dirt beneath them would somehow find its way onto their outfits, but the two of them would ignore it. Her mother had long given up on getting aprons and gloves for the times they came in, because their skirts and shirts were bound to get dirty regardless— the only part of her appearance that her mother fixed while she went to work was her hair, which she would tie into a high ponytail. It made Marianne wonder, with her short hair, how she would look in such a style.

They would work clockwise. There was a well located in the middle of the area, so they would make numerous trips back and forth to water whatever required it, slowly moving in a circle. Along the way, her mother would trim anything that was growing out a bit too much or pull up weeds, either clapping together her stained hands to get rid of the residue that remained from her maintenance or leaving them be to build up even more muck to deal with the next time she was cutting something. The weeds would go on one side of the basket that she had brought along, and the other side would have the extra flowers that were carefully trimmed off, placed gently on their own.

It seemed small, but things like that were why Marianne liked watching her mother in her garden. She had a certain aura about her whenever she went about her work that made everything seem much more elegant than it actually was— even the sweat on her brow that she would wipe away with her wrist was pretty. 

And those were just her actions. When she spoke, her words and voice were dripping with love.

“Have I ever told you the story of how this garden came to be?” Her mother would ask, placing a small bunch of red flowers in the basket on the soil by her feet before turning back to her work, a small sharp object in her hands. The sound of stems and leaves being cut away were a soothing background noise— and, if her mother was in the small herbal section she had only started recently, scents would fill the air around them that would make Marianne feel as relaxed as a cat laying out on a sunspot.

“I don’t remember,” Marianne would say, when she definitely knew, but she just wanted to hear her mother say it again.

“Well,” the watering can would get picked up to water something far above Marianne, hanging in a pot that was attached to the ceiling. “It was made for your father’s great great grandfather’s wife, many years ago, and it was much smaller than this, originally. When I first met your father, I was able to visit it on our escapades, and there was only enough room for the two of us in its clearing. In all my bumbling nervousness, I remember telling him, ‘I love flowers,’ or something along those lines.”

Her mother would take Marianne by the hands and spin her around, smiling, trying to imitate the dance she had done with her father long ago. Marianne was no good at dancing, so much so she’d often stumble over her own feet if she even tried, but she still tried to go along with it for the sake of the story, beaming back. After all, they still danced together now— in the corridors of the hallways, in her father’s office— and Marianne had seen it enough times to know the basic steps. “And we danced here so often, because no one came here to disturb us, that he asked me one day, ‘What if I asked the Emperor if we could make this just a bit bigger for us? For you?’ I was so flattered, but so flustered, I said no immediately. But your father didn’t listen, and had it made into this huge space not too long after!”

Marianne would be led by the hand to their next destination, supplies except for the watering can and trimmer abandoned. While Marianne would watch her water, the story continued, “I told his uncle, the late Emperor, that I was sorry he had to entertain me, especially when I was only just beginning to see Berkut—“ a slipup, not saying “your father” like she always did but instead calling him by his name, which showed just how much she was bursting with affection, “—romantically. But do you know what he said?”

She knew what he said. “What did he say?” 

Then, out of nowhere, a flower would be tucked behind her ear— always bright blue, like her hair, with petals that were delicate and soft and piled on top of each other in a way that Marianne thought made it look like they were all in one big group hug— and her mother would go back to work, cutting a small bunch of similar flowers for Marianne to keep for her room. “He said, ‘You’re the first person he’s ever asked for anything. I believe you deserve it.’ And I’ve made sure to show Emperor Rudolph that I do, ever since then. Everything here is my own work—“

Her mother would hand Marianne the bunch so she could run over and put it in the basket they had left behind somewhere. “My own work, and the work of my little girl.”

Marianne didn’t think she did much, but if her mother counted her as part of her wonderful garden’s legacy, she didn’t want to deny it.


	5. Cooking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want mariannes age to sloooooowly progress , so you’ll see ive written shes 7 here.
> 
> anyways, wowza those berkutrinea alts in feh? wig snatched . i drew a babby dancer marianne to match if anyone wants to see..... https://twitter.com/inkopolis/status/1170358919325278208?s=21
> 
> ok now im running BYE enjoy the chapter. college started so im uploading slower but it AINT stoppin me

Marianne decided to make her father breakfast— two eggs, sunny side up, with a piece of buttered, warmed bread on the side and two sausages. 

A day prior to this decision, Marianne received a child-friendly cookbook from her aunt Tatiana. It was worn, a clear sign that it passed through many hands before ending up with the cleric, but Marianne didn’t care. The excitement on her face and the delicate way she pointed to certain pictures made it seem as though she was giving her a true treasure.  “There’s nothing more satisfying than making your own food, and it’s a good skill to have, too,” she had told Marianne, holding the book by its binding and flipping through the pages to showcase some of the outlined recipes. “You could make something for yourself, or people you care about. They’ll love it, I’m sure.”

When Marianne had heard that, she really wanted to try to make something for her father— she often overheard her mother say that he didn’t eat nearly as much as he should when he had work to do.  And Marianne was humble, but she wasn’t blind, either— she knew that if she made him something, he would eat it without question, regardless of how busy he was. He was that type of father.

Getting the ingredients wasn’t hard, since they were all stored in the main kitchen, and setting up her work station— a pan and one of the brick ovens— was easy enough. Thanks to the instructions of the book, she managed to cook everything proper, with only some slight quirks. She had put the bread in the brick oven she had picked out, but underestimated the level of how hot it could get inside of it— as a result, the bread was a bit more toasted than she would have liked, but at least that meant the butter would melt faster on it. The sausages came out well, and she made the eggs in the same pan once they were cooked, but she didn’t pace herself right, so all of the eggs cooked into one mega-egg (that she split up once she had put it onto the plate).

The surrounding maids who were working on making breakfast for the rest of the castle were both extremely worried and confused. Royalty almost never set foot inside the kitchens, especially anyone so young, so to come in to do their tasks for the day and find a seven year old princess working away was confusing, to say the least. Only one spoke against her, telling her that the staff that morning would make her meal gladly, but Marianne refused. 

“It’s not for me,” she shook her head, shaking seasonings onto the eggs she had just finished making— salt, pepper, turmeric, garlic powder, something red, something red again— and then used the fork she had picked out to rearrange the contents of the plate. “It’s for my father. So I need to make it myself....”

The maid then quietly nodded her head and backed away. It probably wasn’t in her best interest to step in the way of something that involved the prince. Knowing how he could get sometimes if he was displeased, and also knowing how angry he would get if he found out Marianne had been slighted in some shape or form, it was best to just give her a tray and some coffee and send her on her way.

And that was how the little princess ended up outside of her father's office in the morning, meal and coffee ready.

Though, there was a slight problem. She could tell her father was inside from how the light peeked from underneath the doorway of the office, but she couldn’t get in. The door to enter was shut tight, and when she tried to open it, she couldn’t get it to budge, even when she put her things down to try and yank it open with her two hands. It was too heavy, and, thinking about it, that made a lot of sense— her father was extremely strong, so a strong door like this fit him perfectly.

She began to wonder what to do next, but luckily, her attempts at getting inside didn’t go unnoticed for long. Just as she was about to try knocking, a familiar voice suddenly barked from behind the door, startling her, “Who thinks of themselves so highly that they believe they can clamor outside my office so loudly in the morning?!” 

That was how her father usually spoke to those under him, so it didn’t make Marianne feel upset by the lack of care. If anything, it made her feel relieved that he was completely in the dark about her plan.

“It’s me,” she called out. “C-Can I come in, father?”

Silence.

Then, the sound of a chair quickly being dragged across wood and footsteps. He was going to open the door himself, it seemed. 

Marianne bent down to grab the tray she had put down with both hands and turned her head up just in time to face him. 

Her father’s hair was a bit tousled, the quill pen he typically used was tucked behind his ear and threatening to drip some of its remnants onto his shoulders, and his collar was crooked, but he was still somehow the same as always— a smile on his face, warmness in his eyes. He could get snappy and angry at anyone in the world, it seemed, except for her and her mother— any negativity he had would just melt away at the sight of them. “Marianne,” he breathed. “Good morning.”

Then, he looked down at the tray, the heat of the food causing steam to rise into his face. “What’s that? Did you want to eat with me?”

Marianne shook her head. “N-No. I made you breakfast!” She lifted the tray up as high as she possibly could to give her father a closer look. It was hard to hold it up for long, though, so she put it back down to her chest. “A-All by myself. With the help of a cookbook.”

Her father stared in silence, his lips just slightly parted, as if he was pondering what to say. His expression was completely blank.

That wasn’t what she was expecting.

Marianne looked down. “...Do you really not want breakfast…?” She was sure her idea would work, but...

Quickly, her father knelt down to speak with her at her eye level, taking a gloved hand and cupping her cheek so she would look at him. “No, no. It’s not that, Marianne,” he corrected himself. “I’m just so impressed by how incredible you are. I had no idea you could cook, and now you’ve prepared an entire meal just for me? I was starstruck for a moment!”

Marianne tilted her head slightly so it rest more in her father’s hand. “So… You want to eat it, afterall?”

“Of course,” he nodded, and she smiled in relief. Her plan up until this point was successful.

Now all that was left was for the food to actually taste good...

Her father stood straight, took the tray from her with one hand, and held out his other free one for her to take. She grabbed on and followed him into his office. 

It was a decent sized study, and everything in it, from its bookshelves to its window, was perfectly clean and orderly— that was, except for his desk in the far corner of the room, which was a mess of papers and empty bottles of ink. Her father typically didn’t work every day, but lately, it seemed that there was more and more he had to do that would bleed into his typical free time. He let go of her for a moment to grab a handful of miscellaneous sheets and toss them to the side of his desk, not caring if some fell to the floor as a result of the casual gesture. With the freed up space, he set the tray down, then sat in his chair and grabbed Marianne to sit on his lap.

“Are those important?” Marianne pointed to the lopsided mess on her father’s desk.

“Only a little. They have to do with another land that’s borrowing some of our forces,” he responded, shifting her in his hold to make sure he would actually have room to access the tray in front of him.

“...Have I ever been there?”

Her father scoffed. “Marianne, you’ve never been outside of Valentia before, to my knowledge. Unless you’re sneaking out without me knowing…” he commented. He picked up the fork that laid next to his plate and began to cut up the eggs with its side, rather than let go of his daughter to use the accompanying knife. “Those that are seeking our assistance are on an overseas continent named Fodlan— and those people in particular are part of what’s called the Leicester Alliance.”

Marianne knew that as a princess, she would have to learn of other places eventually, but names were confusing, and she only ever caught bits and pieces about locations other than Valentia— not enough to form full opinions or profiles on them. She mulled over what her father said by repeating, “Lei-cest Alliance…”

“No,  _ Leicester _ .”

Then, he held up his fork in front of Marianne, now with a piece of sausage on it. She hadn’t even noticed he had finished preparing to eat. “I heard they have all kinds of cuisine there, some that we don’t even have…” he mumbled. “But I think my daughter’s homemade cooking can easily rival all of that.”

“Y-You haven’t even tried it yet…!” She shook her head. Now she was nervous— if it was bad, and her father was building it up to be something it’s not, would he be disappointed in her and take back everything he had said up until now? Also, could she actually beat an entire country? That seemed impossible...

She held her breath and watched him put his fork in his mouth, still as stone.

He chewed.

Then, he beamed.

“That’s delicious!” He exclaimed.

It caught Marianne off guard. She squeezed at the arm he was using to hold her. “R-Really?” She peered closer at him.

Her father nodded, clearly pleased. He reached over and grabbed some of the eggs, then ate that, too, and his expression still remained the same— elated. “Absolutely! You’re a natural, Marianne. I had no doubts.” With that declaration, Marianne felt a weight lift off of her chest. He liked it, and it tasted good, and everything was perfect. It was just like her aunt Tatiana had said, she realized— she told her the recipient of the dish would love whatever they got, and in this case, he did. 

The next time she saw her, she would need to give her a big hug.

“This has to be my favorite dish, without a doubt,” he remarked while chewing, an improper thing to do, the two of them knew, but disregarding manners to praise something was a good thing. 

Marrianne narrowed her eyes, wary at what he had just said. “But I thought smoked steak was your favorite.” In fact, she  _ knew  _ smoked steak was his favorite, because he had gotten into a heated debate with her aunt Celica about it the other week— she had said he had the food palette of a child, considering he usually ate the same thing for dinner every day, and the two had gone back and forth at the dinner table that night with no holds barred. Luckily, the discussion was put on hold once her uncle Alm commented Celica only ate certain vegetables, and both of them decided to yell at him instead.

Back in the present, her father simply shrugged her off. He took the coffee mug in his hand and, in the strangest show of power yet, chugged half of it like it was absolutely nothing. Then, he looked to her. “You can have multiple favorites, Marianne. After all, I can’t pick between just loving you and your mother, can I? This is the same thing.” 

That was a very simple way to think of things. 

But, when he put it like that, it made perfect sense to her.

Marianne put her head back against her father’s shoulder. “So, if I make you something else, and you like it, will that be your favorite, too?”

“Of course,” he reassured her. Then, he moved on, grabbing the fork he had put down. “But, also, you should enjoy the fruits of your labor, too. Try some.”

As he handed her a share of the food, the gears in her head began turning.

What should she make next…?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever notice how mariannes default “really good” textbox for food is “i like this, it was my fathers favorite?”
> 
> thats the reason i wrote this. Bye im embarrassing


	6. Dancing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dumb bitch me back w another chapter when i said in the last chapter “mmmm updates might be slower”. im really off the goop.
> 
> this chapter in particular may be multi part. not sure yet. anyways please enjoy. im glad u guys like this fic. i love u guys

Marianne didn’t know how to dance. And she wasn’t a fan of it, either.

She liked when her father and mother would sway on the ballroom floor, and even thought that it was beautiful to watch. But she herself had two left feet— far too clumsy and shy to even manage getting the basics down. She would trip over her own feet or lag behind any time her parents would try to get her to join them.

“If it makes you feel any better, milady,” her uncle Zeke started, walking her back from the stables one day after overhearing her complain to the horses about her life problems (which weren’t very big problems to anyone else but her), “I haven’t the slightest clue how to dance. And neither does Tatiana. In fact, she can barely bob her knees to the rhythm of a song without coming off as a fool.”

But Marianne silently disagreed with the sentiment. Her aunt Tatiana may not know how to do any moves proper, but she certainly had fun when she would try, and that was worth more than anything else. She was the type of woman that rarely took to heart what other people thought of her, so long as she was happy with what she was doing— and Marianne was nothing like that. The thought of anyone seeing her messing up, especially anyone she didn’t know personally, made her face warm with embarrassment. There was no way in Valentia she could ever be so carefree.

So, when her father and mother had decided to put together a ball on the anniversary of their wedding, Marianne felt nothing but dread.

And for good reason...

“Are you suuuuuuuuure you don’t want to come out for lessons?” Her aunt Tatiana peered inside the space Marianne had hidden herself away in— a broom closet located on the far side of the castle, somewhere far away from where the dance instructor her father had hired waited in the courtyard. Marianne had hid behind the brooms in front of her as best she could, sitting on the floor and covering herself with a few extra washcloths so she was hardly visible to the untrained eye. Of course, her aunt had followed her to her current hideout, and had spent the last few minutes trying to coax her out, but she wasn’t having any luck. “Your teacher’s been here for a good ten minutes now.”

“Y-Yes, I’m sure…! P-Please don’t make me go,” Marianne gripped the washcloth over her head tighter, hoping her aunt wasn’t about to reach over to remove it. “Tell them I’m sick.”

“But Berkut will be quite upset…” she said, leaning into the closet’s entrance closer and the lack of light leaking into the space as a result making Marianne frantically skitter to its back wall. Still, her tone was as carefree as always. “Well, it’s not like I care if he’s got his panties in a bunch. But I know you care, right, Marianne?”

“I… I care…” she mumbled. And she did. Of course, all Marianne wanted to do was make her father happy— she never wanted him, or anyone, really, to be upset over something she did or didn’t do. After a beat, though, she shook her head. “B-But I don’t want to go. I don’t want to dance… I’m not good at it…”

“Having someone teach you is how you get good at it,” her aunt replied. 

“I-I don’t like it, so I don’t want to get good.” she said. 

“You shouldn’t say that. You might end up liking it if you give it a proper try.”

“N-No…!” The washcloth Marianne was gripping onto was so old that it was actually beginning to deteriorate with how hard she was holding it— she could feel the seams coming loose at her fingertips. But she disregarded its state and just pulled it down harder. “I won’t like it, no matter what… It’s hard, and it makes me sweaty, and I-I don’t want to dance at the ball because I hate strangers looking at me, a-anyways…!”

Silence.

In all of her years of existence, Marianne had never raised her voice at a grownup before (in real life, since she  _ did _ yell at Duma the first time she had met him), and while she hadn’t screamed at her aunt just then, she certainly hadn’t ended her sentence in a very nice tone. 

She pulled the cloth down ever so slightly to see her aunt’s expression to see if she was mad. It was hard to make out, what with how there wasn’t much light in the closet, and her features were obscured by shadows, but she could make out a frown on her face.

It wasn’t really clear why, other than maybe guilt, but Marianne began to bawl. 

Contrary to popular belief, she didn’t cry often, so to completely break down into sobs was an unprecedented move. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell…!” She cried. The tears flowed down her cheeks freely, as she was to busy squeezing the washcloth in her hands to think of wiping her face with it.

“No, no! You don’t have to apologize, okay?” Her aunt grabbed the supplies she was hiding behind and threw them out of the closet, not even looking to see where they ended up after she tossed them, and reached forward to cup Marianne’s face in her hands, shedding her camouflage in the process. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t realize how upset this made you. I mean, maybe I should have figured, considering you never hole yourself up like this, so that’s on me…”

As her aunt tried to wipe the tears away with her thumbs, Marianne stared up at her with eyes as wide as saucers. “Y-You don’t hate me?” She knew that people who yelled at others were bad (except her father, because even though he yelled at people there was no way he could be bad), and if you were bad, people also didn’t like you.

But she just shook her head. “Of course not. I love you, Marianne!”

“I love you, too…!” She cried, rushing into her aunt’s arms and almost toppeling her over. “I’m sorryyyyy!”

“Ah, wait, I don’t want you to cry more, though!” 

When Marianne had settled down enough to talk, both of them stood outside the closet and began to walk to the courtyard hand-in-hand. Her aunt didn’t even bother to clean up the mess they had technically left behind, leaving that to the maids instead— something she usually never did, but this situation was very different from the norm to begin with.

“Have you told Berkut that you don’t want to dance?” Her aunt asked as they walked together. 

Marianne shook her head. She knew that saying something like that would be impossible for her, considering dancing was so important to him— it was how he met her mother, afterall. She didn’t want to make him mad because she didn’t do as he pleased.

“If you told him, and were really firm about it, he would back down, you know,” she said after a long pause. By now, they were close to their destination. “I know he’d rather you be happy than miserable.”

Marianne hung her head. She wasn’t sure about that. “I don’t—“

“Marianne! There you are!”

And cutting her off was, sure enough, her father in the same hallway, loitering by its exit with his arms crossed until he had spotted his daughter. Marianne’s first instinct was to freeze where she stood, and then, when she saw her father begin to walk toward her, she hid behind her aunt. It was very unusual behavior for her to do, so much so that the two adults in her presence both raised their eyebrows.

“You wench. Did you do something to my daughter?” He hissed. “I can easily have you expelled from this castle, regardless of Zeke’s position, you know.”

Her aunt just put her hands to her hips. As long as Marianne could remember, the two of them were always locked within a battle of words with each other. “Oh, shut it. Rinea’s always on my side, anyways, so good luck with that one.” She scoffed.

“Insolent curr.”

“Stupid idiot.”

Marianne poked her head out from behind her aunt’s dress. “D-Don’t fight…” she mumbled.

Her father clicked his teeth, but abided by her request, temporarily ending the argument at her aunt’s cleverly worded insult. He quickly crouched down to speak with Marianne on her level, but was taken aback by the redness of her face and eyes. “Marianne, are you alright…?!” He asked, jerking forward to grab her shoulder and peer at her closely. “Were you crying? Did you get hurt?! Did this…  _ thing  _ do something cruel to you?!”

“I’m right here, you know!” Her aunt yelled, then shoved him back a few feet with all the strength she could muster. As he stumbled backwards, she pointed to Marianne with her chest puffed out. “Your daughter has something very, very important to tell you!”

He dusted his cloak off with a stern face. “Well, the instructor already left, since she had other matters to attend to, so I suppose it’s fine…” he mumbled under his breath. Then, he looked to Marianne. “What is it, darling?”

Marianne clenched her teeth and pulled at her aunt’s dress, trying to hide by getting her aunt to stand in front of her, but she didn't budge. “I-I… I… I…” 

Tears began to pool in her eyes. “I-I don’t want you to hate me…”

The sight made her father nearly choke on the air he was breathing. “W-What?! I could never!” He insisted. “Did Tatiana say something to make you think that way?”

“Why is it always my fault? You’ve gotta get over blaming commonfolk for everything.”

“Usually, when I blame you for mishaps, it’s typically because you really did have a hand in it.”

Marianne shook her head. “N-No, Auntie didn’t do anything bad!” She protested. “It’s… It’s because I don’t…”

A short pause.

“I-I don’t want to dance… I don’t like it. And I don’t want people to see me dancing if I don’t want to do it… B-Because… I don’t like it…”

Her father blinked, processing the stream of consciousness Marianne had sputtered out. “Oh. I see…”

Then there was silence.

A few moments of it.

“...Was that it?” 

Her aunt pulled her arm back and punched her father in the gut. “‘Was that it’?! Have some more tact!”

“I could have you executed for that, you brute!” He reeled back, face a bit paler than before. It wasn’t obvious from her soft appearance, but her aunt could seriously hurt someone if she tried, and this was an instance of that. “I-In any case, I had thought something was very wrong, like that she had broken an expensive object, or…”

He let himself trail off with a sigh— explaining himself after he had been suckerpunched in the stomach meant nothing. “You hadn’t told me that, Marianne. I didn’t know you felt that way.” He said. “I always just chalked up your apprehension to it as beginner’s nervousness.”

“I thought you’d be upset if I did…”

“Of course not. How could I be?”

Marianne hung her head, embarrassed, now. She felt like she had wasted so much time not being confident in her feelings, only to find out her father would have let her go completely free. She shrugged. “I… I don’t know… Because you like it so much…” 

But he just scoffed at that, and then flashed his signature  _ I’m the best  _ smile.. “If I truly got upset every time you didn’t like something I did, I wouldn’t be the perfect father I already am.” He said it with very high esteem, so it sounded almost silly, but the point still stood. It was true, when she thought about it— when her father had told her to pick out a weapon, he wasn’t disappointed for very long that she hadn’t chosen lances. He just moved on. Now was a similar case.

Her aunt reached and put her hand to Marianne’s back, trying to steer her away. “Let’s get out of here, sweetheart. I think your dad’s gone soft in the head,” she whispered hurriedly, and he responded by snatching Marianne into his arms before she had gotten too far away, shocking the two of them. “Hey! You stole her from me!”

“I can’t steal something that was never yours to begin with.”

“Ugh. I hate you.”

“Likewise.”

Marianne knew they didn’t  _ really  _ hate each other, though. And now that a weight was lifted off her shoulders, she finally felt herself relax as she listened to them bicker.


	7. Hilda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is what i mean by multipart.

The castle was usually only half full, but ever since Marianne’s father and mother announced they were having a ball, new people were trickling into the guest wing every day.

At first, Marianne didn’t mind. It was strange to see a few new faces at breakfast, but it wasn’t as if they were bothering her. When the few turned into the many, though, she began to feel overwhelmed. It was probably due to the fact that she spent most of her days in a place where she saw the same faces for the past seven years, but strangers scared her, so she tended to shy away from them or keep to herself when they were around. She would time her actions accordingly, making sure she took shortcuts unknown to outsiders to get around and eating earlier than everyone else so she wouldn’t have to face anyone. Most of her days were either spent away in her room, as her studies were put on hold to instead prepare for festivities, or in the private stables, which the public still had no idea existed.

On occasion, her parents would drag her out to meet someone in hopes that they would click— “This is so-and-so’s daughter, why don’t you two play together for a bit?”— but it usually ended in the two children agreeing to go their separate ways after a few minutes. Marianne had decided for a long while now that horses were the best friends she could possibly have, so she didn’t have any interest in making new friends— especially when, if you thought about it, there was a high chance she would meet these people once and not see them for years after they left.

However, when a new girl came about, things were a lot different.

Marianne didn’t know when she arrived at the castle exactly, or how she found out about her secret hiding spot, but regardless, her worst fear still managed to happen— the princess strolled into the stables with her lunch and snacks ready to go only to find a total stranger stroking the snout of her uncle Alm’s horse. 

This intruder was very well dressed— she had a button up frilly blouse with a matching skirt that went down to her knees, and the outfit was pink and gold in color, like a sunset. It was easy to tell she was from a well off family by how many accessories she had on, as well. Both of her ears were pierced, each wrist had several bracelets, there were two different necklaces on her neck, and her pink hair was tied up into two separate pigtails by golden bows. Marianne knew that she herself lived a nicer life compared to the majority of people in Valentia, considering she was a princess, but she didn’t think she was as spoiled as this. 

That was the best way to describe it— this girl was spoiled.

Marianne didn’t want to get involved in that, so, while she still stood in the entrance, she began to turn away. Maybe she would just eat in her room and—

“Oh! Hey, you’re Princess Marianne, right? Is this yours? I think it likes me!”

...

...No escape. It was time for social interaction.

Marianne slowly turned back around to see the girl now facing her, with her hand still rubbing the horse’s snout lovingly. There was a smile on her face, and her eyes were wide, like she was actually interested in hearing whatever she had to say. That usually didn’t last long, she knew, because once outsiders started speaking with her, they got bored fast.

“H-He’s not mine,” Marianne explained. “He’s Uncle— the King’s horse....”

A pause.

Then, the girl tore her hand away from him as if she had just been burned, but still kept her smile. Marianne realized in the back of her mind that messing with something that belonged to her uncle would probably scare anyone who wasn’t close to him like she was. Considering how much she saw her uncle Alm get teased and made the butt of jokes around the castle, she could never really see him as a threat, but he was still the king. “I see! Don’t wanna mess with such an important steed, then!” The girl nodded, bringing Marianne’s thoughts back into the present. “Sorry about that. I had no idea. Are all of these his?”

“No… One is the Queen’s, one is my father’s, and one is...” Marianne pointed to each as she listed the owners off, but stopped when she got to her uncle Zeke’s. She didn’t know his official title, so she just ballparked it. “...My uncle’s. Who’s important. He helps the King.”

The more she went on, the paler the girl in front of her looked. “...Wow. Y’know, my brother always tells me I attract trouble, but I didn’t really believe that ‘til now,” she said, giving the stables a once over. “I’m sorry for barging in. I had no clue this place would be so important. I kinda just found it by wandering, and the gate was unlocked, so…”

Her voice trailed off, as if waiting for Marianne to say something, but she made no attempt to keep the conversation going. In all honesty, Marianne really just wanted her to leave, and was hoping she would get the hint.

She did not. Instead, she inched closer, hands behind her back but body tilted forward in a way that gave the impression to Marianne that she was comfortable enough to stay a long time. “Say, princess, do you like horses?” She asked, voice sweet. “Since none of these are yours but you’re here anyways, I’m guessing you do.”

Confused that the conversation was still trying to be lead on, and knowing she would be considered rude if she didn’t reply to such a clearly cut question, Marianne nodded dumbly. “Y-Yes, I do… My father says I’m not allowed to ride alone on one until I’m older, though…” At that moment, some part of her felt compelled to at least justify why she was in such a place that had nothing to do with her, so she reached into the pack she had prepared for lunch and pulled out a tiny box full of carrots. As she did so, the four horses around them suddenly began to shuffle, and Marianne had to raise her voice a bit to talk over their movement. “T-The… I brought…”

The stranger’s eyes lit up, and she took a step closer (making Marianne conversely take a step backward, but not before noticing that she smelled like cherries and raspberries, a bit of a delicacy in the upper Valentian region they lived in). “Oh my gosh, you feed them and stuff? That’s so cute! Like something out of a fairy tale!” She marveled. “Can I watch?”

“S-Sure…?”

Marianne turned and, under the pressure of an audience, decided to feed her aunt Celica’s horse, since he was the first one she made eye contact with. Her’s was known for being a bit rowdy, so Marianne made sure to do a cautious, calm approach before sticking out her hand to feed him. He sniffed her palm, craned his neck, and took a big bite of the carrot she was holding out, then came back to finish it off with gusto only a few seconds later.

The entire time this was happening, the stranger was watching in pure awe. It was as if she were entranced by the simple act of feeding a horse… But then Marianne noticed out of the corner of her eye that she wasn’t watching what she was doing— she was just staring directly at her. “...Wow. No wonder Valentia’s such a powerful place,” she mumbled. Then, the stranger leaned closer to Marianne, making her flinch, but she was anchored in place by the horse she was feeding, so it wasn’t as if she could move to put some distance between them. “They’ve got someone as adorable as you here! Fodlan doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Fodlan…” Marianne echoed in the spur of the moment. She had heard that name before— her father told her about it when she had made him breakfast some time ago. 

Once she was ready to move onto the next horse, she decided to choose the one farthest from where the stranger was standing, and scuttled over to her new location. “The… The Leicester Alliance,” she said, rushed. “The one my father is helping… Do you know anything about it?”

The stranger was quick to nod. “I live there, actually!” However, the enthusiasm was even quicker to fall off her face. “I don’t know a lot about anything in current events, though, because my father doesn’t tell me much…”

Marianne had wanted to learn something new, but if this girl didn’t know anything, then that was the end of that. She shook her head sadly. “Neither does mine…”

They let the feeling of defeat wash over them until the stranger put a hand to her chin. “...Maybe there’s a problem with fathers of the world. A conspiracy against daughters everywhere— being too vague for us to understand!”

“Y-You think?” Marianne didn’t think her father was ever being too vague, just that adult things were difficult to comprehend, which was why he tended to simplify things when he would speak about them to her. Was the matter actually much bigger than what she thought?

It seemed she was taking the conversation too seriously, because all Marianne got in response at first was an exhale. “I said  _ maybe _ ,” the stranger eventually said, shaking her head. “It’s pretty obvious you’re an only child. No offense.”

That was definitely a comment on how serious Marianne was, she knew, but she didn’t exactly have any way to refute her when she was right. There were probably some obvious signs she was a bit different from other people her age. “Well…” she found herself trying to explain the situation. “The King has a son, but he’s only a year and a half old... And I have other relatives that live here who have a daughter, but she only likes spending time with him now... S-So I’m usually on my own with—“

“The horses. Right?” The girl suddenly popped up next to her, grabbing a carrot from her lunch pack and offering it to the horse Marianne had yet to start feeding. She was so busy talking, she forgot about what she had walked over to do.

“Y-Yes.”

“I’m the same way! Back home, all I’ve got is my lame older brother, and he’s no fun. Sometimes we get visitors, but it's not really often. My father usually buys me a bunch of stuff to compensate me for that…” The girl said, pointing to her necklaces and bracelets and earrings with her free hand, as if Marianne hadn’t already put two and two together. On a related note, the amount of words she could get out in one breath was absolutely incredible. “...But you don’t really seem like you’re the type of girl who likes that kinda stuff, even though you’re royalty.”

And Marianne wasn’t the type, really. “My parents don’t give me things unless I ask… Or if it’s needed. B-But there isn’t much that I want or need…” She had heard once from her mother that before Valentia was united, its two countries, Rigel and Zofia, were very different in how they raised their children. While Zofian children typically were spoiled rotten, thanks to the former goddess’s blessing making resources so bountiful in supply, Rigelian children were raised more strictly and often had to prove themselves deserving enough of any frivolities. Since both of her parents were from Rigel, it seemed like Marianne was being raised the Rigelian way.

And if this girl was born in Valentia, she would have fit right in with the way Zofian children used to be raised. “You’re like a saint,” she commented. “If I were like you, I’d use my status to get anything I wanted! Sleep in all day! And eat cake all day, too!”

A bit of a pause.

“W-Well, sometimes I ask for cake…” Marianne felt her cheeks warm at the confession, but it was true. Honestly, what child  _ didn’t  _ ask for cake every now and then?

There was another beat skipped, like the girl was registering what Marianne had just said. Once she did, she seemed rather pleased by her answer, because she pointed at her and nodded feverently. “And then! I’d use that bashful smile to seal the deal!” She stuck her thumb right into her chest, eyebrows knit together but face still proud. “Us cute girls, we’re own weapons, princess!”

“‘Us’…” she repeated back, confused. Why was she being lumped in with her…? Was it because they had spoken for a bit, and now the stranger considered the two close enough? It was odd.

In any case, the “princess” thing was weird. Marianne was used to her uncle Zeke calling her “milady”, and plenty of the maids had also called her “lady”, but she had never been referred to as just “princess”. It felt wrong— simultaneously respectful and disrespectful. If she could help it, she wanted to pick what she was called. “Please don’t call me that. Just ‘Marianne’ is good...”

The girl reached over to grab another carrot, putting it under her chin as if she were thinking. “Hmmm.”

Then, she stuck it toward Marianne’s face, almost making her stumble back in shock. “Okay, Just Marianne.”

It took a second for her to process that. Once she did, worry shot through Marianne’s body at the fact that she had so grievously miscommunicated. “N-No, wait, I meant…” 

The carrot was brought away and held in front of the horse, which practically evaporated thanks to how glutenous it was. “Pfft. It’s okay. I just wanted to tease you!” She reassured her. Then, a well decorated hand was put to her chest. “And my name’s Hilda Valentine Goneril! Just Hilda is fine.”

So her name was Hilda. Marianne made a mental note to herself that she should ask her father about Hilda and her family wgenever he had a bout of free time. “Ok…” 

Then, Marianne dipped her head, making circles in the dirt below with the tip of her shoe.

In the quietest voice she could muster, she mumbled her retort,

“J-Just Hilda…”

Silence. Deafening silence.

The girl, Hilda, stared at her, dumbfounded. A red hot blush spread across Marianne’s face, embarrassed by how it seemed she had blundered the joke that was just pulled off so expertly a few moments before.

But suddenly, Hilda reached forward and latched onto her arm, laughing as she hugged it close. “What the heck?! You did my joke better than me!”

And that was how Marianne and Hilda met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think hilda and her family will be the only three houses characters i include in this story for now, unless you guys are like me and have some real crackhead ideas. let me know em! i wanna hear some hypotheticals


	8. Siblings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiii. Sorry for lack of updates. heres something short and sweet. i wanted to do something longer but i wasnt liking the way it was coming out so i said fuck it!

“Listen, Marianne— big brothers are the _ WORST. _ ”

Marianne and Hilda were sitting in the garden, each eating lunches they had brought over from the kitchens not too far away. It was an unspoken rule to have meals prepared at lunch time eaten in the dining hall, unless you made the food yourself, but today, Marianne’s mother had whipped up both girls something to eat and let them go about their way. It was a little bit rare for her to cook— especially with the ball being soon, she was just getting busier and busier— but Marianne was glad for it. She liked her mother’s cooking, and had even asked her to help out with making dishes outside of the ones in the book her aunt gave her sometimes.

But in any case, it was Hilda’s idea for the two to have lunch in the garden in the first place. Ever since they had met a few days prior, Hilda and Marianne were practically joined at the hip, what with how much time they were spending together. Usually, people of Hilda’s ilk— loud, assertive, bright— intimidated Marianne, but something about her was different. Hilda didn’t make fun of her for tripping over her own words or her shyness, she didn’t play any pranks on her or do anything rude, and she was so close in age that she was much more approachable than the majority of children Marianne had met before her. To be honest, it illuded Marianne why Hilda wanted to hang around her so much, but she wasn’t going to complain about it. She was content.

Most of their adventures together were spread all around the castle, and today, the weather was perfect for a garden visit. While they were eating and admiring the scenery, sitting on a bench toward the back of the enclosure, Hilda had begun to talk about her brother. He was also another guest in the castle at the moment (Hilda’s whole family was present for the upcoming event), but Marianne had yet to meet with him face to face. From how Hilda described him, however, he sounded like a true pest… On and on she went about how he annoyed her, how he doted on her too much, how one time he tripped her by accident and made her twist her ankle, and more stories of similar descriptors.

It got Marianne thinking about herself. She was the only child between her father and mother— and she had heard her mother’s body wasn’t very strong, to the point where even delivering Marianne had been a battle. It stood to reason that this was the reason she was by herself, but she didn’t mind it or resent her mother for it— it was beyond anyone’s control. But as for everyone else in the castle, all their children were younger than Marianne, so she felt a bit of a disconnect that seemed to be getting a bit stronger every day. Thankfully, though, she knew for a fact that she definitely didn’t annoy them like Hilda’s brother annoyed Hilda. She didn’t talk to them enough...

Being the oldest in the castle wasn’t all that fun, she realized. It would be nice if she had an older sibling or relative that she could look up to and relate to, but that was also very impossible, unless she knew how to turn back time.

“Marianne? You’re looking at me weird.” Hilda shoved an entire bread roll into her mouth and pointed at Marianne, startling her out of her daydream. Her nails were nicely manicured, just another thing that Hilda was pampered with that Marianne didn’t even dream of.

Quickly, Marianne redirected her focus and shook her head. “S-Sorry. I didn’t mean to do that…”

There was a pause so Hilda could finish eating what she started, and once she swallowed, she jerked her hand forward so she poked Marianne in the forehead (not hard, but enough to startle Marianne just a bit). “You’re probably thinking it’d be nice to have an older brother, right? You’re wrong! They’re awful! The worst!” She yelled. “Pay attention to what I’m saying, it’s super important!”

“M-Maybe not a brother, but just someone…”

“Noooo. They’re all bad!”

Hilda sighed and brought herself back, resting both her hands under her chin as she slumped forward. She was a fast eater, so while Marianne was still finishing up her lunch, Hilda was now empty handed, save for the single cloth that was left on her lap. “Sometimes I kinda wish I was an only child like you, but then my father would probably crush me with his love… I don’t want that, either,” she stuck out her tongue. “Maybe the solution would be…  _ more  _ siblings. That way both my brother and my father can be all mushy with them and not me.”

Marianne tilted her head slightly. The mental image of crushing someone with love seemed impossible… Yet, with how often her father was in his study lately, Marianne wished he’d show as much love as that to her. 

That might be a little bit weird to admit, though, so she continued the conversation. “But then… You’d be an older sibling. Wouldn’t you not like that?” It was a bit of a stretch, but Marianne thought back to a talk with Duma she had about her father— he had thought of those who worshiped Duma as foolish, but then begged for his power and became the very thing he hated. So wasn’t Hilda’s idea similar to that?

But in retaliation, Hilda feverently shook her head. “No, no. I would be good. I wouldn’t annoy any of my baby siblings, since I know what it’s like!” She insisted. Marianne responded by furrowing her brows together as she ate the last half of her sandwich, unswayed by Hilda’s reassurance. When Hilda saw that look on her face, she shot up out of their seating area and stood in front of Marianne, bowing slightly, like she was trying to show respect or sincerity. “I swear, I’d be really good!”

Another pause, so this time Marianne could finish her food. When she was done, she got up to stand next to Hilda. “W-Well… I’m sure it must be nice to have you as a sister, since your brother cares so much...” She said, picking up her lunch pack’s cloth, as well as Hilda’s, which had now fallen to the dirt below in her sudden movement from before. “To me, one sibling sounds nice, but it probably is t-tough, too… You wanting more makes me… Wow…”

“I hate tough things, too. But that scenario would be good in the long run…” Hilda mumbled. She took her cloth from Marianne’s hands and shoved it in her cardigan’s pocket, not caring about the specks of dirt that also got in as result. Then, she stuck out her hand to the princess, waggling her fingers to catch her attention. “But, you know, Marianne, I don’t think it’d be good to have you as a sister…”

Marianne’s eyebrows raised, and she cautiously took Hilda’s hand. “W-Why…?”

But then, Hilda pulled her close and laughed, the hint of seriousness gone. “Well, if we were sisters, you’d have to deal with my brother and my father. I don’t wanna put you through that!”

Marianne thought about that.

“...B-But you can put your made-up siblings through it?”

“They’ll be conditioned through all the attention to like them, so it’s fine. They’d never know it’s annoying.”

“...That sounds sad.”

“It’s not sad, they’re made up!”

They began walking out of the garden, slowly, still taking the time to admire the scenery. Marianne made note to herself that she’d need to water some plants on her own soon, so her mother wouldn’t have to stress about them. Once the ball was over and done with, then they could have her mother’s full attention.

While Hilda’s head was turned to the side to overlook some roses, Marianne heard her say, “Also, there’s other reasons why it wouldn’t be good to have you as a sister…”

Marianne leaned slightly toward her. “What other reasons…?”

Hilda didn’t respond. But she was blushing, for some reason, which made Marianne wonder if she was embarrassed.

She decided not to press her on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you know why she thinks that? its because she got a Crush


	9. Goodbyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo its been a while huh!  
i had a lil bit of writers block. then, combined w current life situations, things have been p wild n rough! If youre still paying sttention to this then thanks.  
I finally got this done. i guess these last couple chapters are sort of a bundle.
> 
> now, to make more stuff (hopefully)....

The ball Marianne’s parents threw ended up being, of course, overwhelming, over the top, loud, and full of people. It was everything Marianne didn’t like wrapped into one big package that she had been forced to attend.

She couldn’t hate it, though, when the end result made both of her parents so happy. In fact, she really did love it.

There were some last minute close calls along the way. A maid tripped and spilled something on the corner of Marianne’s dress in the morning, and she had to quickly scrub the thing clean before the stain set— with Marianne still in it, because taking it off would have been too much work. Marianne’s father was also up in arms about some of napkins being a  _ slightly _ muted shade of purple, rather than the  _ less muted  _ shade of purple that he had placed an order for, and on top of that, some of the flower arrangements were just a little  _ too  _ old, and he had to (begrudgingly) ask (beg on his knees) for help from her aunt Tatiana to try restoring the flowers to a more healthy looking state (after he promised her and her family a very long vacation time)...

But when all was said and done, and the celebrations began, it was an incredible time, so all the calamity beforehand was quickly forgotten about.

Marianne spent the first half of the night saying hello to relatives and eating anything she laid eyes on— depending on the portability of the food, she would do both at the same time. She wasn’t a fan of small talk, but she knew that there were those legitimately interested in speaking with her, and, as a princess of Valentia, she couldn’t just sit around in a corner— there was an image to maintain.

Just around the time she finished talking with her uncles Valbar and Leon (who pulled her away from the dinner buffet table to give her a surprise hug, almost giving her a heart attack in the process), however, she realized that in all of her walking around, she hadn’t seen Hilda yet. 

In fact, she hadn’t seen her friend the entire day— during breakfast, at lunch, in the courtyard, and right as guests began to make their way into the hall, Marianne couldn’t recall seeing Hilda’s face anywhere. By now, dinner had been served, which meant a temporary break in dancing, but Marianne didn’t even spot Hilda in the wave coming off the ballroom floor. 

“Mari? You okay?” Her uncle Leon asked, noticing Marianne’s gaze wandering. Between him and his husband, they didn’t have any children, so her uncle Leon was quite straightforward with how he spoke with her— sort of as if they were pals, which made Marianne feel like an adult. “You seem a little bit out of it.”

“H-Huh? Oh! I’m fine. I’m fine,” Marianne nodded as she continued to scan the dancers behind him that were all making their way to their seats. “I-I just haven’t seen one of my friends yet.”

Her uncle Valbar, who was standing next to her and still had his hand on her head, bent down to her level and looked in the direction she was facing. “Friend? Who’d that be?” 

“One of Faye and Silque’s boys? I thought they were a bit too rowdy for her, though...”

“They’re actually pretty well behaved today, believe it or not. Look, they’re over there, fully dressed and everythin’.”

“Wow. I suppose miracles can happen, after all.”

The banter between her two uncles was just background noise now as Marianne looked at the completely emptied floor— Hilda wasn’t there, and she wasn’t getting food at the dinner buffet spread with the other guests. Where was she? 

There wasn’t much time left to look around— everyone was already prepping to eat, and it would look bad if the entire royal family wasn’t at the head table during the pre-dinner toast...

Her uncle Leon noticed the tension in Marianne’s shoulders and sighed. “Augh. We’re probably holding you up. Sorry about that,” he said loud enough to cut his husband off while he was making his point about how  _ sometimes parents need to hold their kids on a tighter leash or else they get too rowdy and you’d think someone who grew up with Lord Alm’d do that and maybe Lady Celica should say something _ or whatever it was that he was babbling on about. “You can get out of here, Mari. Hope you find your friend!”

Marianne bowed her head slightly, but she was holding her plate so high her forehead nearly landed in her mashed potatoes. “T-Thank you…”

***

After the various mini-speeches and the main toast (Marianne participated in the latter, but her aunt Celica immediately took her drink away following its conclusion and downed it in one go, which Marianne had never seen before), everyone dug into their meals with vigor. 

“I feel like this is even bigger than your wedding night,” Uncle Alm pointed his fork at Marianne’s father, not a very polite thing to do normally, but the two of them had a brother-like relationship, so it didn’t feel particularly out of place.

“I tried to make it as big of an event as I could without dipping into the general funds— this was done solely off of profits made by the mercenary work of the past couple years,” her father says, swatting her uncle’s hand down with a free hand, making her aunt Celica chuckle. “Rivaling our wedding is not an impossible task at that point.”

Her aunt Celica smiled as she cut the food on her plate. “I remember how much you complained about everything being so small, yet it was the largest wedding  _ I  _ had ever attended,” she said. Marianne had heard stories about this— her parents had gotten married after the war, and money and resources were too tight for something extravagant like her father had always dreamed. Her mother was completely okay with just a service, though, so of course her father couldn’t say no— he could never say no to her— but he swore up and down that she deserved more.

“Don’t talk about marriage too much. You’ll start giving Marianne ideas,” her father said through a mouthful of food.

Marianne’s eyebrows raised, not expecting the subject to go into her corner. “Huh?”

But no one heeded her any mind, and instead kept the conversation among the adults. “Oh, but Duke Goneril’s daughter is the cutest thing,” her mother said, smile on her face.

“Absolutely not. No discussion,” her father shook his head. “If I had to tell you the nightmares I’ve been through with Count Gloucester of the Leicester Alliance, asking to know more about Marianne so he could set her up with his eldest son… She’s seven years old, for the gods’ sake!”

Aunt Celica tilted her head. “Well, now is much too soon for those things, I agree… but someday she  _ might _ get married, Berkut. I wonder what you’ll do then.”

“I won’t allow it... Just thinking about  _ potential suitors  _ or what-have-you going after her has me ill.”

Her uncle Alm let out a sigh. “How do you function as a parent…?”

Marianne had no time to add into the discussion before its direction was changed, so she continued to pick at her plate in silence. She hadn’t thought much about marriage in her life, since that was an adult matter… Her mother had told her, though, that she should be wed not for diplomacy, but for love, like she had been. So, it didn’t matter who Marianne ended up being with, as long as she was happy.

_ I wonder how many other girls’ parents let them choose who they marry...?  _ Marianne thought.  _ I must be the luckiest one in the whole world. _

A pause.

_ ...I wonder if Hilda’s father is going to let her choose. _

Marianne looked around the hall again. Then, with a sigh, she directed her attention back to her plate.

_ …I wonder where Hilda even is... _

***

Dinner came and went, and the festivities resumed. From their table, Marianne watched as her parents danced in the middle of the ballroom floor. Very elegant. Very romantic. Once they had finished their final dance, and everyone applauded them (though they “hadn’t intended to put on a show”, her mother said, blushing), it was announced by the staff that dessert was being made available at the tables that had held the dinner spread not too long before. Accordingly, Marianne hopped out of her chair to grab something to eat.

She weaved through tables and people at top speed, wanting to get there before anyone else could take the things she wanted. By the time Marianne arrived, only a few other guests had gotten there before her, so she had plenty a selection to pick from. In her head, she thanked her family for deciding to go with a buffet-style celebration instead of a catered one, because it meant she could have a wider selection of treats.

Just as she was reaching the end of the table, a shadow fell over her, obscuring her view of the cookies she was trying to grab at.

“Oh! You’re lady Marianne, right?”

Marianne paused. Then, she turned her head.

An unfamiliar pink-haired boy stood behind her with a large smile. He was much older than her— she could tell by his height and build alone that he was at least a teenager— but the pile of desserts stacked up on the plate he held in his hands betrayed his handsome, mature looks. She hadn’t seen this person before, not even when she was going around to greet people. Maybe she had missed him? Though, with his bright pink hair, that seemed unlikely...

“Nice to meet you,” He said, and a hand was stuck out in front of her face, the other balancing the nearly overflowing plate perfectly. Even Marianne, who enjoyed sweet things greatly, couldn’t imagine eating half of the portion in front of her without feeling sick, but yet this tuxedo-wearing stranger seemed like he was ready to devour all of it and then some. 

Marianne, unsure if she should familiarize herself with this person, didn’t raise her hand to shake his hand in response, instead opting for the more wary approach of backing up a little bit. “Uhm...” 

He seemed to notice her apprehension, and decided to step forward to remove the space she had put between them. “Ah, I didn’t even introduce myself. I’m Holst, Hilda’s older brother,” he said, smile not faltering from his face.

“Huh?”

“Hilda’s brother. That’s me.”

Marianne was struck by a bout of silence.

So  _ this  _ was Hilda’s brother…?

From how she talked about him, Marianne was expecting Holst to look and act completely sinister, but he seemed like a normal young man— no devil horns atop his head or tail hiding away behind him. It was almost anticlimactic, yet at the same time, Marianne much preferred dealing with this rather than something truly evil.

Holst took note of Marianne’s shock and spoke as if reading her mind, “I hope Hilda hasn’t said anything bad about me… But you don’t have to lie. I know she has, from that look.” 

Marianne quickly shook her head and grabbed his hand to shake it, an attempt to put his mind at ease. “N-No, no, she hasn’t…” She insisted, thinking it would be best to cover for her, but Holst didn’t look the slightest bit convinced.

Still, his smile didn’t fade. “It’s alright. I’m used to it,” he laughed, and when Marianne let go, he shifted his plate back into the hold of both of his hands. “She’ll take any opportunity she has to complain about me, whether it’s to our mother, our father…”

His head dropped slightly, eyes looking down at his plate. “Our maids, my friends from school…”

The more he listed, the greater a deep, dark hollow grew behind his eyes, and the smile he had on became more empty. “My friends’ friends, my teachers, some mercenaries…” His grip on the plate was so tight that it would be possible for it to snap under the pressure at any moment, now.

This first meeting was not off to a very good start.

“Uhm! Where  _ is _ Hilda? I didn’t see her tonight…” Marianne asked, hoping to steer the conversation into a more positive direction with a nervous smile.

It worked, and the cheeriness returned to Holst’s aura without a second to spare. It was strange, how he seemed to hold a fondness for his sister, but was just describing the ways she would torture him… Marianne really did not understand how siblings worked. “I could have sworn she was around somewhere…” he raised an eyebrow, eyes doing a quick sweep of the area in front of him but not finding anything. “You really haven’t seen her?”

Marianne tipped her head down. “N-Not for the whole day…”

He craned his neck around for a moment, then sighed. “That’s so strange,” he shrugged his shoulders. “Considering tonight’s our last night here, you’d think she’d want to spend it with you…”

“Y-Yes, I…”

A pause.

What did he just say?

Marianne slowly lifted her head. “...Your ‘last night here’…?”

Holst stared down at her like it was no big deal, but when it was clear that this was news to the princess, the gears began turning in his mind. “Did... she not tell you?” 

Silence.

Now it was his turn to lose the smile. “Oh, no.”

  
  


***

Marianne got permission from her mother to leave, and, once she had calmly walked out of the area of festivities, she hiked up her dress and ran.

Of course, there were a limited number of places Hilda could be— the guards were still on duty tonight, so she couldn’t get into more restricted places without permission. Entire wings of the castle were blocked off for guests on their own, and could only be circumvented by having the presence of a higher up with them.

So, where could she be? 

_ “Ah, I don’t think she’s at the guest chambers or anything, since she didn’t like it there,” Holst had told Marianne, trying to brainstorm a plan for her to follow. “Thought it was too old. No offense to your family, I mean, she just has very picky tastes!” _

_ “Anyways, the last time I saw her was a few hours ago before everything started, at the garden... Maybe you should check there?” _

The garden would make sense. They had been there countless times during Hilda’s stay, mainly to eat lunch or talk, and it was never off limits to anyone, regardless of who they were. It wasn’t near where the party was being held, but that didn’t mean it was impossible to get to, either.

Realizing how much stamina she didn’t have a little too late, Marianne’s run slowed to a light jog the closer she got to her destination. As she saw the garden entrance unlit, as well as its interior, she was tempted to look elsewhere for a brief moment. Would Hilda really be sitting in the dark? If she was trying to hide, maybe…

“Why would she want to hide…?” Marianne furrowed her eyebrows. The princess spun around and grabbed an unlit candelabra from off of a nearby side table. It was a longshot, but she tried to recall what little dark magic she had learned in her studies to light it. After the third attempt, enough sparks flew from her fingertips to light one of the wicks, and she quickly lit the rest to give herself an ample light source to enter the garden with. 

When she walked through its entrance, she had to make sure to be careful with her steps. The last thing she wanted to do was trip over herself and start a fire, but she was somewhat nervous about the affair.

Standing a few feet in, Marianne leaned forward and called out in the loudest voice she could muster (which wasn’t loud at all), ““Hilda, are you in here…?”

Silence.

Marianne took a couple of steps forward. “Uhm, if you are…”

There was a rustling to her left, and she quickly spun around like a frightened mouse, holding out her light source to see what was making the noise.

Sure enough, it was Hilda, paused mid-walk. A walk that was facing toward the entrance Marianne had came in from, like she had been trying to creep around the little princess from the start. 

But she played it well enough, making herself stand up straight and turn in her direction. “O-Oh, Marianne! Hey!” She smiled. “What’s up?”

It felt weird.

Marianne gripped the candleabra harder. “I was wondering where you were…” Her voice trailed off as she looked over Hilda. It was a shame she was just seeing her now, because her dress— a lovely shimmering gold, tightening at the waist and then poofing out to just barely hold itself above the ground— was the most beautiful thing Marianne had seen the entire night, even compared to what her mother and father had worn. Was that okay to think about someone not related to you?

Hilda laughed, a nervous laugh. “Oh. Sorry. I was kinda not feeling the ball tonight… The dinner was really good, though, right? Like, really great!” Her words were coming out much faster than normal, and she couldn’t hold eye contact with Marianne, either. It was clear that she didn’t want to be having this discussion with her— the tension in the air between them was so thick that it was almost suffocating.

“...Holst told me tonight is your last night here,” Marianne doesn’t beat around the bush.

Once she had said it, Hilda went even more rigid. 

The silence was enough to kill.

Eventually, though, her shoulders slumped, and her head hung. “...Yeah,” she nodded sadly. Then, she takes a deep breath, and says in all one go, “we have to head back home earlier than expected, but I dunno why, since no one ever tells me anything, so I didn’t want to see you, because I didn’t want to tell you I was going, and that’s probably worse, I know, but saying goodbye is bad, too, and… Ugh. I don’t know.”

In all of her anger, Hilda walked past Marianne to take a seat on the edge of the garden’s fountain, ignoring the recently set up bench to instead let her dress catch on the stone. Maybe that was a small act of rebellion, ruining the dress her parents had definitely given her. Whether Marianne agreed with that or not, though, she didn’t know. Instead, she walked over, making sure to keep eye contact the whole time. Before Hilda came along, she had a hard time doing that with strangers, but even Hilda’s extroverted personality seemed to rub off on her— Hilda stared right back, not saying anything, just looking miserable.

“I had a lot of fun, Hilda,” Marianne said, putting the candelabra down on the bench next to her.

It was all she could think to say, so she just decided to say it.

Hilda turned her head slightly and nodded, voice strained. “Y-Yeah. I did, too...” 

Marianne heard a sniffle, but before she could react, Hilda faced forward and put her hands to her cheeks, eyebrows furrowed. “Agh! No crying! That’s not my style!” She shook her head, angry, shutting her eyes tightly. “I can cry some other time, not in the moment!”

She squeezed her face for a moment and mumbled positive reinforcement over and over like a prayer. Then, her eyes snapped open and stared directly at Marianne, startling her. 

“Alright! Marianne, I want you to dance with me!” She commanded, voice booming. “Since we didn’t get to at the ball, I wanna have at least one, right here!”

For a second, Marianne stood, processing what her friend had just said.

Once it had registered, the princess quickly raised her hands in defense. “W-What? No, I… I can’t…” She shook her head. This was a serious deja-vu moment, she realized, thinking back to her conversation with her father not too long ago. “I’m not good at dancing… I-It’ll be awful. You don’t want that as your last memory of here…”

But Hilda only drew closer, increasing the pressure. She hopped off of the fountain and stood over her, eyes wide with pleading. “It doesn’t matter! I’m not good at dancing, either. I’ve got no rhythm and I don’t know any fancy moves, but that‘s okay!” She reassured Marianne. The image of Hilda having two left feet seemed unreal, but maybe it was true, considering she hadn’t seen her on the ballroom floor all night.

“What matters,” Hilda said, bringing Marianne’s head out of the clouds, “isn’t that we’re good at it. It’s that I’m dancing with  _ you _ !”

And then Hilda held out her hands, eagerly waiting for Marianne to grab hold.

The princess looked at the outstretched palms apprehensively, as if weighing options she didn’t have. Whether she wanted to dance or not, Hilda was going to make her— it would be the last thing they’d get to do together for who knows how long, possibly forever depending on if Hilda could never make another trip back to Valentia, so she was going to be selfish as possible and make sure she got her way. 

It was very self centered. Mean, maybe.

But even though dancing was asking a lot of Marianne…

She found she didn’t really mind it as much as she thought she would.

When it was with Hilda, like this, it was okay.

So, she slowly reached out and grabbed Hilda’s hands, grasping them gently with her own,

“J-Just don’t move too fast, okay…?”

“Yeah, that’s more like it!”

and the two spun around the garden to the sound of the band playing in the hall not too far away.


End file.
